


Power Play

by shecomesincolor_999



Category: American Horror Story: Apocalypse, American Horror Story: Cult, House of Cards (US TV)
Genre: American Politics, Bisexual Duncan, Entitled rich boy, F/M, Fashion & Couture, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Power Dynamics, Strong Female Characters, Technology, Wealth, Webcam/Video Chat Sex, Women In Power, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23190271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shecomesincolor_999/pseuds/shecomesincolor_999
Summary: You are a power player at a tech company in D.C. in a new relationship with the District's notorious playboy and tech wunderkind. Neither of you have been successful in relationships, come from dramatically different backgrounds and are on the same level when it comes to success. Can you make it work when you're both busy, driven and outside pressures weigh heavy?
Relationships: Duncan Shepherd & Reader, Duncan Shepherd & You, Duncan Shepherd/Reader, Duncan Shepherd/You
Comments: 4
Kudos: 3





	1. Day Play

**Author's Note:**

> Not sure where I'm going with this yet, other than I can't shake how much I feel Duncan needs someone other than his Annette and Bill to take him to task and push his buttons. And I love a badass female lead. Totally fabricated his middle name.

_Babe_.

No.

_Please?_

You know I have a big day today. Absolutely not.

_Whatever you want is yours. Just this one small thing._

What part of NO don’t you understand?

_That word doesn’t exist in my vocabulary_

It’s Monday morning in late March and you are in a rather important morning meeting of over 20 people – fellow leadership from your Washington D.C. office along with those who have flown in from your company’s headquarters in San Francisco and London satellite office. The Vice President of Strategy, who speaks with such a thick Liverpudlian accent that you never quite understand him no matter how hard you concentrate, is reviewing the action plan for the week. The fact that your phone is vibrating on the conference room table every few seconds is distracting, the rapid-fire frequency of the messages at the point of pissing you off. You decide to ignore them, sitting back in the black mesh high-backed chair to focus completely on what is being discussed. Hoping the silent treatment would work, you were all too happy to have your phone finally sit idle and stay that way for the remainder of the meeting. At the conclusion of the meeting you pick up your phone, stride straight for the door doing your best to make pleasantries as you make your exit but avoid anything more. You’ve perfected this move to avoid messy after-meeting conversations and the dreaded meeting-after-the-meeting that usually results when a group this large is together. You breathe a sigh of relief upon returning to your desk, carefully tucking the skirt of your floral printed Alice + Olivia mini dress beneath you as you sit.

Even though you’re the Chief Information Officer (CIO) of the company, it’s an open concept office so you share a communal desk with several others. The complete lack of privacy was the norm among tech companies with the ethos of everyone being treated the same no matter their title. Having worked your way up from an intern to the leadership position you held now, it was what you were used to.

“I tossed your latte; it was ice cold when I got here.” Your assistant Winter informed you, sitting across from you typing furiously.

“Thanks, girl.” You had a close relationship with the barely 21-year-old, having felt protective over her as she was new to D.C. as well as to her position working for you. She reminded you of yourself at that age, hardworking and eager to learn. “Doug was off his game this morning; he must’ve gone brain dead it was totally whole milk and not oat milk.” You cross your eyes and stick out your tongue, mimic being poisoned.

“Not cool, if ever you needed the perfect latte to start the day, it’s today.” She rolls her eyes. “Let me go grab you another, I’ll get behind the bar and make it myself if I have to.” You smile, knowing she’d do so. “Or I think the kombucha tap got fixed…” You politely decline, explaining that you’re not sure what you want yet.

Clicking your MacBook awake, you dive into emails to check for an update for your next meeting which you’re presenting at.

“Kickball team sign ups end today!” Was the subject of the first email - delete.

While you enjoyed any excuse for day drinking in a park with your coworkers who you were close with, doing so while having to participate in an athletic activity was not for you. You found out the hard way before that you couldn’t just drink and fake abdominal cramps to get out of playing like you did during PE class in high school.

“Urgent: financial reports due by end of day Friday” You sigh heavily, flagging this email important to return to later. You need to give the numbers a detailed review before turning it in.

“Hi :-)” You open this one, rolling your eyes at the juvenile subject line from this all-too-familiar sender. The body is blank – delete.

The next 18 emails in your inbox are all from him, the subject lines are one word in each and from their succession in your inbox spells out a sentence the following:

Miss

You

So

Much

Can’t

Wait

To

Get

You

All

To

Myself

Just

Give

Me

What

I

Need

He may have gone silent via text, but email was his next avenue, and goddamn did he have time on his hands if this was what he was occupying himself with. You wondered the financial value of his wasted time but were sure it was such an obscene amount that you’d vomit at that figure. You were still annoyed with his pestering but had to hand it to him that he didn’t give up easily. A few more unimportant messages followed, and you decided you wanted another latte and would go grab it yourself at the office’s coffee bar when a ding notified you of a new email.

_I asked nicely, I don’t know what else to do. Ghosting me like I’m some random?!_ _I’m on this international flight and can’t stop thinking about you and what you’re wearing. Ignoring me any further isn’t an option, I know your next meeting isn’t for another 30 minutes. Give me what I asked for, this is a command._

And right there on the screen was a dick pic, the first one he’d ever sent you. You start coughing on your own saliva in shock as he was not the kind of guy to send such an image and given his career, something like this in the wrong hands would be a public relations nightmare. Not to mention, you didn’t want to end up on an office perv list. Always responsible to a fault when it came to your career, you slammed the lid of your laptop bubbling with anger at his carelessness.

“Everything okay?” Winter stands up and looks down at you as you continue to cough, face turning red. You shake your head and wave her off, not wanting to cause any more attention to yourself. Getting up from your desk, finally clearing your throat, you grab your phone and stalk away down the corridor of conference rooms, your Miu Miu platforms thudding in your wake. Your phone pings in your hand with a SnapChat notification. Finding an empty collaboration room, you close the clear glass door of the glass-walled room. Opening the message, you find a poor-quality video of your boyfriend with his hand down his pants, moaning your name.

You groan in frustration, completely pissed off now as you close the app and go to call the offender. Pulling up your favorites list, you find he’s hacked into your phone again and changed his name in your contacts to _Prince of Orgasms_ with the crown emoji and the water drops emoji. He’s hacked your phone before, but his usual trick was to change the wallpaper or lock screen image. They were usually candid photos of you sleeping, but several times it’s been a photo he took of you ugly sobbing, mascara tears, eyes puffy and face red-splotched, while watching Marley and Me. Your favorite had been a selfie of the both of you at the end of your first date.

“Duncan William John Shepherd!” You use his full name to scold him as soon as he answers your call.

“Fucking with my phone again on top of everything else today really has me pissed off!” You start in on him without even giving him a moment to say anything, knowing how bull-headed he was about anything he was after and that your best defense was a tough as hell offense. “I know you’re bored and clearly as horny as a 12-year-old that you aren’t thinking clearly. However, some of us have real responsibilities to bosses that didn’t pay a nanny to wipe our ass growing up. I don’t have time to entertain you, Duncan.” You’re cold, biting and it’s the first time you’ve spoken to him this way.

To the world, Duncan is a shark. The founder of Gardner Analytics, a tech company he started with financial backing from and under the umbrella of his family’s billion-dollar business, Shepherd Industries. With his biggest product so far, an app for the family’s philanthropic arm The Shepherd Family Foundation, to assist victims of natural disasters with ties into government services. He was also leading the charge with the family business’s media arm – traversing the country acquiring newspapers and local TV stations to fold into their conglomerate. He was the genius-level intelligent, relentless, power-hungry tech wunderkind from a prestigious family. He was well-bred, connected, work-obsessed and one of the most driven people your age in the District. After all, his mother and uncle had been grooming him to take over the family business since he could talk. This reputation made him a frequent topic of gossip, not to mention D.C.’s hottest bachelor. And while his name mostly stayed out of the blogs and papers in regard to his relationships, there were many stories about his escapades with men and women floating around town.

It was a little over a year ago that a mutual friend had first suggested setting you up with him. You were still new to D.C. after your company relocated you from San Francisco to establish their new office. And while you were seeing someone, Peter was a lobbyist for a K Street shop you despised and were starting to feel the same way about him except for the random hookups, she knew you were looking for something better. But when you heard the name Duncan Shepherd, you spit out the Chardonnay in your mouth with laughter. Duncan was the literal poster boy for entitled Ivy League alumni K Street pricks like your current guy. Guys like him wanted arm candy for society events and play toys for behind closed doors. You’re sure he’d be like the rest of them, intimidated by your success and the relationship doomed because your work and travel schedule made your being available on their terms impossible.

You had relegated yourself to the odd Bumble date when you were bored and relying on a few of them to call on when you just needed physical release. In the late fall you had broken off your flings and resolved to make an attempt at something more. Acquiescing your friend, you met Duncan for dinner a few days before Christmas.

The relationship started slowly and at around 3 months old was new but felt different. The thing that you found intriguing on the first date was his sense of humor and interest in the arts; behind the scenes he let his guard down with you and you were working on doing the same with him. Sure, his confidence could come off as smug and had a way of speaking that could persuade anyone, he could debate any topic and argue to the death – you thought he would’ve made a brilliant defense attorney. But he made you feel comfortable being yourself – the real you underneath the armor you had built up to get where you were in your career, especially around men. Today’s situation was an example of where he was just wanting to have a bit of fun, but you couldn’t let yourself lose focus and saw it as an intrusion into your professional life. And given the fact that you grew up in a blue-collar family and worked hard to gain your success, you were always on guard for people or situations that you felt were a threat. It was something you were working on with your therapist but still struggling with.

When you and Duncan were in D.C. together, you went out with friends, to dinner, would grab brunch in Georgetown on lazy Sunday mornings or just stay in at his penthouse or your loft. There hadn’t been any outings as an official couple, but you’re sure mouths are wagging around town. The occasions of you together weren’t as frequent as either of you would’ve liked, leaving you to FaceTime calls before bed or a long email when the time difference was too great between you. Recently the longing that made your time together so intense had started to spill over into all communication. Duncan had become brazen with his messages and while at first you found it a turn on, the frequency of it made you uncomfortable. You didn’t want to become just a plaything for him and the interruption to your workday couldn’t happen.

“Mallory sent me your updated itinerary and I know you’ll be home soon. I can come over after work, we could go out for dinner if you’d like but until then…” At Duncan’s request, his assistant Mallory kept you informed of his schedule as Winter did for him. You were both anal retentive about your schedules and because your time together was precious, assistants got involved to make sure every minute was maximized. You are still dominating the conversation, about to finish your thought and hang up for effect, but then he makes an undeniable interruption.

“Princess.” He mewls lowly into your ear over the phone, dragging out every syllable. His recent pet name for you started as retribution for you incessantly referring to him as ‘The Shepherd Prince’ for days on end after his first big profile in Forbes coined him as such. It had been brutal blow to his ego as he rarely granted press interviews and had only acquiesced this one with the promise of framing him as his own person, not a tentacle of the family. And you only teased him because he was too serious about how angry he had been over it. The Princess moniker had always sounded condescending to you, but you tolerated it on rather playful occasions knowing he didn’t mean ill when using it. But again, today wasn’t a day for folly. “It’s been over a week; can you really treat me so cruelly knowing I’m starving for you? I’m a desperate man.”

And your icy front was shattered immediately just saying those words the way he did, voice heavy with need; he has you hook, line and sinker. Fucker. Walking over to the small digital screen on the wall of the room you not only lock the door but activate the switchable glass - the clear glass door and walls clouding complexly opaque for privacy. You wish he could see how absolutely bratty you’re being in stabbing your finger at the screen to enter the commands, rolling your eyes when you check the time, but all he can do is hear your huffing and swearing under your breath.

“All work and no play makes my Princess a dull girl.”

He quotes one of his favorite books at you and as lustful as his voice was, book quotes were a cute Duncan hallmark and made you smile.

“Me, dull? Never.”

You sit down on the large sectional couch that takes up the perimeter of the room and scoot to sit on the edge, pulling the skirt of your dress up and angling your phone between your legs to take a photo of your purple lace panty-covered crotch. You send it over and remain silent.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk… as penalty of taking too long to send this, I require panties off.” He demands.

“You can’t change the rules now!” You roll your eyes, shifting to get up from the chair and end this game where it was. “That’s enough for you to enjoy a mile-high jack off.”

“Why do you have to be such a fucking tease when we both know that it wasn’t too long ago the tables were turned.”

You curse yourself as you flop back on the couch with a defeated groan. Duncan Shepherd bested you, for now, pulling you into his playground.


	2. Art of the Tease

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We get smutty this time.

It was a little over a week ago when you had been in San Francisco for a work trip and had gone out for drinks one evening after work with a friend from college who lived in town. A sushi dinner and accompanying saki flight turned into karaoke at a nearby bar. And more saki. Which you learned that night was so smooth going down and produced such a slow blooming intoxication, that crossing your own boundary for drinking on a weeknight was easily accomplished. The beauty of it was that you didn’t even feel intoxicated, you swore you were clear headed enough to go write a line of code alongside your best engineers. The magic of the saki in your bloodstream made you feel like superwoman and by the time you arrived back in your hotel room for the night, pulsing with absolute lust.

“Dun-can!” You shouted in a sing-song of the syllables of his name, checking your phone again to find he hadn’t returned the slue of text messages you had sent during the Uber ride to the hotel. It was almost 1am Pacific time, meaning it was nearly 4am Eastern. But you had no regard for time or Duncan’s schedule as you usually did. You had spoken before dinner and knew he had an early morning board meeting the next day that was crucial to his operations with the media side of his work. You had wished him luck and told him to text you after the meeting to let you know how it went.

“Dun-can, Dun-can…” You continued, stumbling around your hotel room with only a dim bedside table lamp lighting the space. “Siri!” You excitedly remembered you could just call him. “Siri, FaceTime Duncan!”

You kicked your Charlotte Olympia ballet flats to the floor as you sat on the bed, flexing your tired feet. The phone was continuing to chime it’s attempt to reach Duncan. Waiting, fumble with taking off your cropped bubblegum pink suit pants but you’re constricted by the accompanying pink suit jacket, so you wriggle around getting it off and throwing it away from you. “Fucking Duncan is so much better at getting me undressed! The one time I actually need him and he’s not here!” You huffed, hair in your face and frustrated at the difficulty in undressing. 

Breathing a bit more heavily from your ministrations, you’re unbuttoning your white dress shirt when the chiming stops. Duncan had answered the FaceTime call.

“Are you okay?” His groggy tired voice grabs your attention.

“Hiiiii baby!” You shouted excitedly, high pitched and oblivious to how unnecessarily loud you were. “Ughh I’m having the damndest time getting undressed and need your help!” You were now giggling as you blew your hair out of your face trying to hold the phone steady.

“Babe…” He sighed, relieved nothing was wrong as a call this late at night would’ve usually meant. Having been startled from the FaceTime call interrupting his phone being on Do Not Disturb, he had put on his round eyeglasses before answering. Paired with the dark stubble framing his face and deep chocolate hair in wild tufts from sleep. “Are you in your room with the door locked?” He just wanted to confirm he didn’t need to be worried about you being shit-faced in the city by yourself at this hour. He wasn’t coherent enough to realize where you were. 

“DUUUHHH!” You channeled your best Billie Eilish with your choice of response, sticking your tongue out to drive that imitation home. But Duncan was oblivious to this and you laughed at how out-of-touch he was with pop culture references most of the time. “Yes, you weirdo! All by myself in this stupid room, missing you.” You were nodding your head, but grinning wickedly as you finished unbuttoning the dress shirt and shrugged it off your shoulders, finally out of the day’s clothes. You pulled back the phone to reveal your body to him to show him the chartreuse-colored lace bra and matching thong.

When you had checked into your room earlier that day you found Duncan had arranged a few things for you. A large bouquet of black calla lilies, some local Ghirardelli salted caramel chocolates and a box from Agent Provocateur were sitting on the bed with a card that just read ‘Miss you’. It was the first time he had gifted you lingerie, so of course you had to change into it.

“Look at what I’m wearing, Duncan! Dun-can, it is so nice…” with your free hand, you were feeling yourself up from thigh to neck, eyes fluttering and laying back on the bed. “Come here and help me out of them?” The chartreuse green was a unique color, but perfectly fit your personality. As dark and predictable as his clothing choices were, which was typical of folks in the Beltway, you hadn’t lost your colorful spirit after being in DC as long as you had. It was one of the things he admired about you.

“You look very nice.” His voice was still heavy with sleep, and he had decided to try and placate you until you fell asleep. You had only drunkenly called him once before, needy and begging for phone sex. He wasn’t really into it due to your state and felt awkward, by the time you had gotten him warmed up enough to agree you were snoring on the other end of the phone. So his tactic tonight was to wait you out until you passed out. 

“Nicer if you’d come here and take them off of me.” You started pulling a bra strap off your shoulder. “If you leave now you could be here in…” Your brain was unable to calculate the flight time or remember how far apart you two actually were distance wise. Sometimes he mentioned wishing to throw his schedule to the wind and accompany you on a trip, in need of him at the moment you just wished he’d actually do it.

“You know I wish I could, but it’s an almost 6 hour flight and I can’t reschedule my day.” He was waking up a bit more, switching on the lamp next to his bed as he sat up against his headboard, scratching at his bare chest as he let out a deep yawn.

“How are you going to make it up to me?” You purred. 

Duncan was soft when it came to you though he’d never admit it and due to the unconventional situation of your schedules, he over compensated with romantic gestures. Sober you appreciated these but often felt embarrassed and unworthy of the expensive gifts and grand experiences he treated you to. Partly because it was foreign to you to be treated so and partly because you didn’t want him to think you were only interested in him for such fringe benefits.

The relationship’s eccentricities were double-sided; he may have been next in line to run his family’s billion dollar company and currently running the media arm of it. But you were the under-30 female CIO of a major player in the tech industry that was making an entree into contracting with the federal government. Work placed a lot of demands on the both of you, which is a large factor in why you two worked as a couple. Both of you had always been unsuccessful in anything other than brief ill-matched relationships and friends with benefits situations.

“Make it up to you…” Duncan parted his lips, tongue tucked in the right corner of his mouth as he thought. “You were none too subtle forwarding Mallory your availability for the summer and information on a resort in Bora Bora.”

“You know how much I love fucking on a white sand beach.” You close your eyes, thinking of warm sun, the scent of suntan lotion and bliss of a good orgasm. One night when talking about favorite vacations, you had shared that anywhere on a tropical beach was your favorite and the things you had done with past lovers on said beaches.

“I’ll never understand why. I hate the feeling of sand up my ass!” You were both laughing now.

“I honestly wouldn’t mind something up my ass right now.” The words fell from your mouth before you could register that they were. Duncan coughed dryly in complete shock. “Or in my mouth or in my…” thoughts wandering, you were squirming on the bed, breast falling out of the cup of the bra where you had pulled the strap down earlier.

Duncan couldn’t help the animalistic feelings taking over watching you in this state, it was irresistible even if you were drunk. But he needed you to fall asleep not only for himself but for you - you’d be in for a rough morning. 

“Babe, you have to be tired!” He gave an exaggerated drawn out yawn and followed it with another in hopes to persuade you. You did yawn in reply and had almost given in to sleep as your eyelids fluttered shut for a brief second. Almost. 

“Dun-can…” you were mewling, tilting the phone down to fill his screen with a clear view of your free hand slipping into the lace panties. The fabric showing your shortly shorn patch of pubic hair and the wetness starting to pool. “Don’t distract me. Get me off. Talk to meeee…”

“Princess, you and I both know there’s a very capable vibrator in your suitcase.” He was breathing heavily watching you tease the slit of your sex, your middle finger moving to pet your folds. “You could’ve gotten off and gone to sleep by now. You know you’re going to be in trouble for waking me up.”

Just the sound of his voice was enough, he could’ve been reading an instruction manual and you would have been able to get off. But the frustration in his voice gave him a certain edge that drove you wild - bending cold rigid Duncan Shepherd to your will was a drug.

“And we both know this is way better. Are you hard?”

That was all he needed to break his resolve at trying to end this quickly. He shows you the erection straining under the thin sheet covering him from the waist down.

“Ba-by!” You groan, slipping your middle finger into yourself.

Duncan kicks the sheet aside to reveal he had been sleeping nude. Which had you press a second finger inside yourself, bucking your hips to your own hand.

“The things I’d do to you if I were there…” He moaned watching you, grabbing himself roughly in response. “Slap that ass of yours until you cry.” You watch him flatten his tongue and lick the palm of his right hand, holding his phone in the left as he closes his hand around his cock and falls completely into getting himself as close to orgasm as he knows you are. “You gonna come for me?” Here he was, demanding Duncan who took what he wanted and you ate it up.

You set your phone against a pillow so you don’t have to hold onto it as you laid on your side and give him a full view. You paused the action only to yank the soaked panties off your hips and kick them off to the floor.

“Mmm fuck y-yes!” You thrusting two fingers back inside yourself as your left hand came down to let those fingers play with your aching clit. “Duncan, p-please don’t stop.”

“You know I love it when you fuck yourself for me to watch!” Duncan is panting and moaning, eyes half lidded as he tries to prolong this as much as he can, not wanting the site before him to end. ”Take your time, slower.” He grunts, thumbing at the precome dribbling out. But you refuse to listen and tell him so, tell him that he can’t make you if he isn’t there. So he knows and gives in.

“Come for me, princess!”

And that’s all it takes, you’re chanting his name as your orgasm crashed, wracking your body with the pleasure it needed and an aching for more. Because as good as this was, it was no substitution for the real thing. You had to learn over the years for this to work, but no amount of gifts and technology could replace the euphoria of skin-on-skin.

Duncan is grunting your name soon after, your chest rising and falling heavily with each breath as you’re coming down. But delighting in the raunchy sight of him spilling all over himself. The satisfaction of knowing you caused him to come like that was as mind-blowing as the orgasm itself.

///

As you sat now in the small private room at your workplace, trying to thwart your boyfriend’s advances, you know he has you cornered. The 4am FaceTime romp was amazing, you both had mentioned so a few times since. (Though you argued the saki hangover was the cruelest thing you’d experienced since the day after your 21st birthday). And he had told you that you owed him in return for interrupting his sleep, though Duncan Shepherd was never off his game. That early morning presentation was nothing short of perfect and you let him know it; Mallory having sent you a recording of the live stream for remote attendees. You actually had to excuse yourself after watching it because watching him do his thing, commanding a room full of people was that arousing.

“It wasn’t too long ago the tables were turned.” Yep, he had you, he was calling in his favor.

Looking around the room again just to remind yourself you had privacy, you lift your hips and slide your panties down to your ankles and take a photo of your recently waxed pussy, hitting send without any text or emoji to accompany.

Sitting there legs spread and cool air hitting your delicate skin had you nervously fidgeting like you were at the gynecologist; bare and waiting for what comes next. It’s radio silence for a long moment until you hear the chime of a FaceTime call.

“Dunc…” He’s groaning your name before you can even finish greeting him. “Mr. Shepherd, you know better than to be a pervert and risk others hearing you have filthy phone sex with me while you’re on the Shepherd Unlimited company jet with others.”

“They’ve seen you, they’re probably baffled as to why I don’t keep you in a cage and carry you everywhere I go to fuck you as I please.” His voice was getting huskier and your breathing was getting heavy.

“Does the idea of that turn you on?” It’s your turn to fulfil Duncan’s needs and it’s changed from a chore to fun for you now, too. “You forcing me to your every whim? Baby, you know I’m much too feral to try to be caged.” You watch the way he’s breathing heavily and pulling his pants down in a private rear compartment of the plane.

“Bad girls get spanked, you know.” You’re laughing because you love the whine of desperation in his voice, like a petulant little boy. He’s jerking off now and you’re prideful that he needs you to do this and that he’s at your whim right now.

“And bad girls can’t help but bite back. You’re going to need much more than a cage to tame me into submission, Mr. Shepherd.” You’re still just sitting on the couch, enjoying the show your boyfriend’s giving you, but you aren’t joining him in self pleasure.

“Y-yeah, w-well…” He’s stumbling to form words already.

“Trying to come so soon? You’re a greedy boy and need to take your time. I’m not ready for this to end yet.” Glancing at your watch, you only have about 5 more minutes before a meeting, but you know him well enough to know he can’t hold off much longer.

“Bitch!” Duncan’s raw desperation has you wet and you can help but slouch down in the chair, parting your legs to give him a view of where he wished his dick was instead of his hand. If he wanted to name call, you were going to give him a reason.

“Ouch, is that the best you can do?” You yawn, fanning a hand over your mouth as you roll your eyes. The taunting does have you wet, but you are disciplined enough to know you don’t have the time to play. Plus, fucking with him like this was much more fun than a rushed orgasm.

“Slut!” He yells this time.

“That’s better!” You praise, moaning softly for effect as you hear him grunt a bit. “Good boy, Mr. Shepherd, don’t stop. I want you coming all over, making a disgusting mess just for me.”

The dirty talk gives way to grunting, moaning and what could be words but are incoherent. Miles apart and yet getting him off is a wonderful feeling because you have the upper hand. You’re sure the rest of the plane can hear him and for once, you hope he’s caught. The thought of word spreading about your escapade among his colleagues would make him embarrassed and you sadistically enjoyed perfect Duncan Shepherd being knocked down a notch. That and if word got back to his mother, she would be horrified and never let Duncan live it down. 

You end the call before he’s finished and collect yourself. Meanwhile, Duncan yelled your name in the duality of anger and pleasure when he came. After collecting himself, he emerged from the rear of the plane, face flushed and looking a bit disheveled to a score of cheers and laughter which made his cheeks turn bright red with mortification. The senior leadership surrounding him always made him feel like the kid whenever they have the chance and he hates it. In the moment he doesn’t regret the blissfully sinful call with you, but damn is he not looking forward to the chastising for this. Even though he initiated this and won you to play with him against your initial judgement, somehow you ended up being the victor.

“I’m gonna get you good!” Is the first text he sends as soon as he lands. You receive it while in a meeting, roll your eyes at the message and proceed to turn your phone off. 


End file.
